Pressure cooker

I hit the wall this week. I am just sooo tired. I love you guys but can't you go home already? I need a break. Why do I have to be the mom all the time?

This Saturday morning, with dad home, I left BY MYSELF to get groceries and run a few errands. But as I was backing out of the driveway, the valve that had started leaking finally burst and all I could do was sit in the parking lot of Fred Meyer and gulp sobs for 20 minutes before I could get my bearings.

This job - this being the mom - is like living in a giant pressure cooker. And I'll tell you, if I don't find some ways to let out the steam, I'm going to start exploding on you.

The emotional highs and lows on any given day are incredible. It can go from "He's smiling at me and I can't believe I can love anyone this much" to "why won't he stop screaming, I am a terrible mother" in less than 2 minutes. Plus there is the never-ending task of staying one step ahead of your emotional/physical/intellectual/spiritual needs while being forever watchful for lead/kidnappers/poopypants/sunburn/etc. Times that by ten hours and you might begin to see why I'm emotionally fried at the end of the day.

Too many days in a row of this plus one family vacation including 14 hours in the car (oh the anxiety!) has clearly put me over the edge.

So, try to ignore that crazy woman walking into walls and blubbering over the zebra pajamas that are suddenly too small for you (Already? This is tragic!).

It's just my black screen of death telling you it's time for a serious reboot. Ctrl-alt-delete! Ctrl-Z! Reset! Reset! - or whatever the real-world equivalent of that is. Heaven help us all while I figure that out.